Choices and Changes
by gothicbutterfly95
Summary: When Angelica Schuyler Church returns to New York to help her sister after Alexander publishes The Reynolds Pamphlet, her life starts to take a new and very unexpected turn. How can she manage some of the happiest moments in her life when Eliza is at her lowest?
1. Damage You Can Never Undo

Summer, 1797

On the morning Angelica Schuyler Church faced the most important decision in her life, the only thing out of the norm was the grim expression on her husband's face when she sat down to take her breakfast.

"What is it?" she asked.

"I think you need to read this."

John said nothing more, simply sliding the paper across the table towards her. He did not return her smile as she took it, opening to the first page:

_Observations on Certain Documents Contained in No. V & VI of "The History of the United States for the Year 1796," In which the Charge of Speculation Against Alexander Hamilton, Late Secretary of the Treasury, is Fully Refuted. Written by Himself._

Her lips quirked. Alexander had never been one to do things by halves. With a title like that, he was sure to let the whole world know whatever he wanted to tell them.

She was stunned to say the least, that this – whatever it was – had found its way to England, but if it meant news from Alexander, she was excited.

So she began to read.

It wasn't at all surprising to Angelica that Alexander had picked up a pen and written a response to whatever it was that had angered him, especially when she remembered him mentioning something akin to this in some of his most recent letters. She desperately wanted to understand everything her Alexander wrote to her, but sometimes things were beyond even her comprehension.

But John's tone had some sense of foreboding, and as soon as she'd finished reading the second sentence, she knew he was right.

_The charge against me is a connection with one James Reynolds for purposes of improper speculation. My real crime is an amorous connection with his wife for a considerable time, with his knowing consent…_

She felt sick, and only continued to feel more so as she continued reading.

_…if not originally brought on by a combination between the husband and wife with the design to extort money from me. _

Alexander had never said anything – of course he wouldn't – but Eliza had expressed concern once or twice about funds. She hadn't been surprised that Eliza didn't know the details, but she would have never guessed exactly why Alexander had been hiding it.

_This confession is not made without a blush._

That line enraged her more than anything else. It meant nothing. She had known from the very beginning that Alexander would never be satisfied; that nothing would ever be enough for him. And yet he still had the nerve to say he was guilty.

She pushed the paper away. She couldn't read any more.

For almost the entirety of her married life, the letters Alexander would send her were her one consolation. John was kind to her, and she couldn't deny that London was a beautiful city; but it wasn't home, and he wasn't Alexander.

Now she didn't know if she'd ever be able to read anything her brother-in-law wrote ever again.

"I have to leave," she was already leaving the table, her breakfast untouched in front of her. "I have to go see Eliza."

* * *

Angelica didn't realise John had followed her until she looked up from her packing to see him. He was standing at the doorway to her bedroom, still and silent, watching her.

"When?" he asked.

"I'll leave on the next available ship," her eyes had returned to her bag before she finished the sentence. She hadn't bothered to call Ginny. She needed to do _something_ to keep her mind off what she'd just read, so calling the maid seemed unnecessary.

"Will you write me when you're coming back?"

"John," she sighed and looked up at him. "I'm not going to come back. Eliza needs me."

"Then I'm coming with you," he said without missing a beat.

"No, you can't," she returned.

She expected him to reply commenting on the bonds between husband and wife; how she had a duty to return, or that, as husband and wife, they had to stay together, and if she wouldn't return to London, he would follow her.

But he didn't say anything of the kind.

"Angelica…" he sighed. "I know you never wanted any of this. But I like to believe we are at least friends."

"We are," she replied slowly.

"And I have never insisted on anything from you; I would never want to push you, or make you feel uncomfortable, because…" he paused for so long, Angelica wondered if he was going to continue at all.

He did.

"Because I love you."

She gasped, but for the first time she truly realised how considerate her husband had been. From day one, she had been married to John Barker Church in name only. And now, over a decade later, nothing had changed.

Because he knew that she never wanted it to.

"I just had to tell you," he added softly.

She could do nothing but stand there, slowly processing what her husband had just revealed to her.

"I know you don't share my feelings, and I don't expect you to, but please, let me come with you," he was almost babbling now. "As a friend."

"You understand I won't be coming back?" she restated. If he was determined to come, he needed to fully understand the situation. "If you decide to come back, I won't return with you?"

"Yes."

"Alright," she nodded. "I would like that."

* * *

The ship they were to take left for New York the following day.

Angelica rubbed her eyes blearily, her suitcase still firmly grasped in her hand. She hadn't let it go since she'd collected it as she and John left for the dock. It felt as if it were her lifeline; her one singular tether to her sister, proof that she would help her.

"You did not sleep last night, did you?" John wasn't asking.

"No."

Angelica hadn't touched the pamphlet since yesterday morning, and she had not read much, but she could still see it in her mind, row after row of Alexander's handwriting, over and over again.

_amorous connection with his wife_

_amorous connection with his wife_

_amorous connection with his wife_

How could he do this to Eliza?

Kind, trusting, beautiful Eliza, who was helpless and heartbroken back in New York, while she was all the way across the sea?

Why had she encouraged her sister's relationship with Alexander? She knew Eliza was head over heels for him, but would it have been better for her to break Eliza's heart seventeen years ago, or for Alexander to break it now? She had known from the very beginning that Alexander would want more than he had, more than he ever could have.

He had a wife who adored him, despite his blinding ambition, five beautiful children, and a position in the forefront of the building of their fledgling nation.

It still wasn't enough.

His legacy was more important than his family, and his image meant more to him than his conscience.

Maybe it was just wishful thinking, but even with the inborn dissatisfaction he'd told her about within a minute of making her acquaintance, Angelica would never have thought he would do something like this?

She briefly wondered if maybe she would've been better off with Alexander. It would certainly have spared Eliza the heartbreak, and she would go through the pain herself if it meant her sister didn't have to.

"It is going to be alright," her husband's soft voice broke her from her reverie. "Eliza has you."

"I introduced them to each other," she said, a lump in her throat. "I'm at fault here."

Would it have been better for everyone if she had never introduced Alexander Hamilton to her sister?

"No," he said firmly. "You could never have known this would happen. And if you had, you wouldn't have done it."

His comment didn't require an answer, so Angelica remained silent.

In the past twenty-four hours she had seen more of her husband than ever before. She had never realised how well John knew her.

Or how little she knew about him.

Since she'd made the decision to leave London, she'd had time to think about John coming with her. She had never wanted to marry him, but as the years went by, she had realised she did enjoy her husband's company.

She was glad she wouldn't have to lose it.

"I would love to meet your sister," he commented gently.

"Thank you," she whispered. "I also would like for you to meet her."

* * *

People were talking about it in England. Nobody had asked Angelica about it – it was probable they did not even know they had a connection – but she heard whispers. She and John weren't the only ones who had received word of Alexander Hamilton's torrid affair.

He had indeed let the whole world know. To have an affair was one thing. To publicly announce it was a whole new kind of stupid.

Angelica wasn't sure which one she was angrier about.

She sighed as the ship pulled out of the harbour. It would take them three months to reach New York. Three months before she could comfort Eliza.

How on Earth was she supposed to wait that long?


	2. Here To Stay

Autumn, 1797

Three months on a ship accustomed one to the ocean so much that land felt foreign when one finally returned. The voyage had been so long that Angelica felt lightheaded when she first stepped off the ship and into the port.

"Shall we go up to your parents now?" John asked as they walked through the harbour.

During the journey, Angelica had suggested to her husband that they stay at the Pastures until they were able to find a home of their own, and John had readily agreed. Despite his wealth, they would both be starting over in New York. Especially at the very beginning.

Angelica wondered if this was at all like how Alexander felt when he arrived from the Caribbean all those years ago.

"No," she replied, shaking her head. "I need to see Eliza first."

"Fair enough," he conceded. "Do you know where she lives now?"

She didn't actually, but she didn't feel the need to tell John. She doubted it would be hard to find her sister and brother-in-law's house, but more than that, she knew she had to do this on her own.

"Well, what would have me do then?" he asked, after she told him.

She felt bad about all but abandoning her husband as soon as they'd arrived, and she probably should have mentioned her plan to him before they had docked, but it was too late now. Seeing Eliza was her first priority. John would need to find his own way there.

"You can go up if you wish," she told him. She knew he knew enough about her childhood home to be able to find it. "I'll be fine to find my way later."

John didn't say anything.

"Please?"

He nodded, resigned, and left her to walk off to find her sister.

* * *

Angelica tried to keep a lid on her anger as she walked through the city in search of Eliza's house.

She had not been able to read the pamphlet in its entirety in London, but eventually she had forced herself to. She needed to know the extent of the damage Alexander had done.

_I had frequent meetings with her, most of them at my own house; Mrs. Hamilton with our children being absent on a visit to her father._

It had started then. Of course it did. She had begged him to take a break; Eliza had too. He hadn't listened. Getting that plan through Congress was more important. His work was more important than his family.

It always had been.

She could hardly believe this was Alexander – her dearest Alexander.

And yet it made complete sense. She had always known he would never be satisfied; no matter what happened in his life, it would not be enough. And she had told her sister he would do whatever it took to survive.

Perhaps the most horrifying part of all was the inclusion of so many letters – all with atrocious spelling and grammar – from who could only be the mistress.

He hadn't just announced it to the world; he'd provided tangible evidence of the affair, so nobody could refute him now.

* * *

As she had anticipated, the house was not at all difficult to locate. As stated in the pamphlet's egotistic and ostentatious title, Alexander had been the Treasury Secretary. He was famous – or infamous, depending on whom you were talking to –so his address was common enough knowledge with the city's residents.

She knocked on the door with a mixture of trepidation and insistence. If Eliza answered the door the last thing Angelica wanted to do was scare her, but she needed to see her.

If her brother-in-law let her in, she needed him to know she was not about to let this go and forgive him just like that.

Maybe she wouldn't ever be able to forgive him. She knew that would be up to her sister. If Eliza found it in her heart to forgive Alexander one day, she would too.

It was Alexander who opened the door. He didn't say anything as he stepped aside to let her pass. He did not even seem to show any reaction at all. Angelica didn't let her eyes linger for longer than a second, before looking away, trying to find Eliza.

"She's not here," he said tonelessly.

It was only then she realised how quiet it was.

How could she not have predicted this? Of course Eliza would leave, taking the children along with her.

The last time she'd seen her sister had been six years earlier, when they all travelled up to the Pastures for the summer.

All of them bar Alexander.

The summer it all started.

And no one knew.

"They're up at my parents?" she asked, even though she knew it was a moot point.

Alexander nodded. Just as Angelica hadn't looked at him, he wouldn't meet her eyes.

She turned around. Her work here was done, and she couldn't be around her brother-in-law a moment longer.

He had ruined his life, to the point that no one could possibly imagine what it would be like from here on. Even Angelica did not know what the future would hold for her sister and her family.

But whatever it was, Alexander would have to live with the ramifications for the rest of his days.

She knew he wanted her to say something. Anything. And she would. In time. But her sister was the most important thing right now. And she didn't feel like giving her brother-in-law the satisfaction.

So, as she made her way down the steps and back towards the street, she could only say one thing:

"Alexander," she called over her shoulder. "Congratulations."

* * *

"John!" she called out.

She had crossed back past the harbour after leaving Alexander. It had taken not even five minutes, and she suspected her husband would still be close by.

She was right. He had not gone far. In point of fact he hadn't moved at all. Had he been waiting for her, despite what she said?

"What is it?"

"She's already at the Pastures," explained Angelica.

"Can we get there before its dark?" he asked.

She nodded, and followed her husband as they sought out a carriage.

* * *

As it happened, Cornelia was in the foyer when the butler answered the door.

Angelica hadn't seen her little sister in years – the last time she saw any of her family had been that now-infamous summer. No longer did she look like a girl, as she had at fifteen, but a young woman. A very beautiful one at that.

"Angelica!" she cried. "What are you doing here?" she asked, making her way over to Angelica. With a grin, she gathered her sister into her arms.

She seemed astonished, but also as though she knew it would inevitably come to this. Angelica supposed, since Eliza was currently staying up here, it really wasn't a surprise if one actually thought on it.

"I came to see -" Angelica began, only to be cut off.

"Cornelia?" a voice asked. "What's going on out there? Are you –"

Catherine Van Rensselaer broke off at the sight of her eldest daughter in the foyer.

"Angelica?" she blinked.

Angelica broke out of her sister's embrace and turned to face her mother. "Mama," she smiled, somewhat sheepish.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, parroting the words her daughter had asked Angelica mere moments ago.

"I came to make sure Eliza's alright."

Her mother's face softened. "You're a wonderful sister," she sighed.

Before Angelica could say anything more, her mother turned to her son-in-law.

"This must be your husband."

John bent over and kissed her hand. Angelica could've sworn her mother blushed a little.

"It's an honour to meet you," he said. "Your daughter is a remarkable woman."

Angelica smiled. He really was so kind; and she had never noticed. She needed to tell him how much it meant to her; that he came over to New York with her, how thoughtful he'd been during their marriage…

But there were more pressing issues.

"Where is she?"

"In her room." said her sister; and before anyone could say anything further, she was racing up the staircase as fast as she could.

* * *

"Eliza?" Angelica knocked softly on the door to her sister's room.

There was no sound from inside. She opened the door a fraction and peered inside. Her sister was sitting at the window-seat, staring out over the fields of the property. But Angelica knew she wasn't really looking.

"Betsey?" she said gently.

After a long, silent moment, her sister finally turned around to look at her. There were no tears in her eyes, only resignation.

"I didn't know you were coming," she whispered.

"I came to make sure you're alright," Angelica replied.

"You know?"

Angelica nodded sombrely. She walked into the room towards the window seat and sat down next to her sister. Eliza all but collapsed onto her shoulder. Whether it was her arrival that finally made her sister break or not, Angelica was devastated.

Alexander's actions meant nothing to Angelica without Eliza's reaction. Finally seeing her sister made everything real.

"You came as soon as you heard, didn't you?" asked Eliza.

"Yes," Angelica nodded. "And I'm not going anywhere. I'm staying here in New York with you."

"You are?" she gasped. "Why would you do -"

"To help you."

"I loved him," Eliza sobbed, then paused. "I _love_ him. I do, but I don't know who he is anymore."

Her beautiful sister still loved Alexander Hamilton. Little Betsey, as forgiving as she was kind and trusting.

Trusting this scoundrel had got her in this position.

"He's an Icarus," Angelica said sadly. "And he's flown too close to the sun."

"It was our lives," Eliza screamed. "Our private, personal lives."

Angelica sighed. "Unfortunately, people always want to look into private affairs. They'll always make the personal political. Especially where people like Alexander are concerned."

"But why did he…?"

For that Angelica had no answer. None was needed.

"I knew women loved him," Eliza sniffled. "What did they call him? Little Lion?"

Angelica nodded slowly. That sounded familiar. Little Lion, the tomcat… he'd always been charismatic. His charms had fooled her, and now everyone was suffering.

Even Alexander. As much as she wanted to push her brother-in-law out of her mind, she had seen how hurt he'd been when she had called on him earlier in the day.

"I could see how he charmed them and, well, I can understand why," Eliza continued, breaking her sister's reverie. She sounded the tiniest bit less miserable.

But that didn't last and her brief moment of levity only made her more upset.

"But I never imagined…"

Angelica's heart broke hearing the pain in her sister's voice.

How badly had Alexander hurt her?

* * *

**If you've read some of my other _Hamilton_ fics you'll know I included the rest of the Schuyler siblings, and this story is the same. There have also be a few liberties taken with the other children, but you'll meet them in the next chapter.**

**Have a great day.**


	3. Our Children Tell Our Story

Autumn, 1797

Angelica could hardly believe these were her nephews and niece.

Was that really Philip, who had only just turned nine when she'd last seen him? That little boy had become a tall young man with dark hair and bright eyes and, now sixteen and teetering on the edge of manhood, he seemed far more confident than he had as a child, but still as sweet and sensitive as she remembered.

Thirteen year old Angie, who looked so much like her mother, was equally sweet, if slightly shyer. Angelica was honoured Alex and Eliza had named their daughter after her, and she was so proud to see the lovely girl she'd become.

They had always been incredibly close to each other, Angelica knew; and it was no surprise, with their similar temperaments, interests and the many years separating them and their younger brothers.

She hadn't seen either of them in years, but she knew they were the only two children who really knew what had happened. The others, still so young and innocent, were oblivious to the disaster that had struck their family.

And then there were the others; the nephews she'd never met, but she felt she knew them already.

There was little Alexander Junior – Xander, he'd announced proudly when they first met the morning after she and John arrived.

The five year old was already bursting with confidence. While Philip and Angie reminded Angelica more of their mother, she could see Xander would have the ambition and drive of his father.

She felt enormously relieved knowing Eliza would do everything in her power to ensure he didn't make the same mistakes as his father. And, however foolish it might be, she hoped that one day Alexander would too.

James, now three, had been named after his father's father, and little one year old John was named to honour Alexander's old friend from the war, John Laurens. Angelica hadn't met him properly until Eliza's wedding, and hadn't seen him since.

His death had destroyed Alexander. She'd heard the news from Eliza, and he'd never spoken of his friend again.

It had been another hard moment in Alexander's already tragic life.

But his tragedy did not excuse the tragedy he'd brought upon his family. And Angelica knew that one day he would have to sit down and explain to his children all the pain and embarrassment he'd put their mother through.

* * *

It was unseasonably warm for autumn, and after living in England for so many years, Angelica was still acclimating to the atmosphere in New York.

They had just taken luncheon. Her father was resting in his study, and her mother was paying a call to a friend. Cornelia and Kitty, along with Philip and Angie, were out in the grounds for a walk, or maybe down at the stables, while Eliza was upstairs with the younger children.

She and John were alone.

She thought back to earlier, as her husband had regaled her youngest sisters and her niece and nephew with all manner of stories.

The girls had enjoyed themselves, but Philip had been enamoured with his uncle's stories. But she hadn't really heard them.

She hadn't ever heard them.

But she wanted to.

"John," she said, hesitant. "Will you tell me a story?"

"Are you not a little old for that?" his tone was light and teasing.

"No," she gave him a small smile. "I mean about you. I want to hear about your life."

He was silent for a long moment, as if considering her request.

"Please."

He nodded slowly and then inhaled, as if bracing himself for the story he was about to share with her.

"For many years I was known as Jack Carter…"

He told her the story of how he'd been left bankrupt as a result of his gambling addiction and investments in the British stock market; all of which culminated in him adopting an alias and fleeing to America.

He seemed contrite the entire time, and wouldn't look her in the eye.

Angelica couldn't say anything at first. Given his status when they'd first met, she would never have suspected anything like this had ever happened to her husband.

But she also never expected Alexander would betray her sister and take another woman to bed.

Did you ever truly know anyone?

"Thank you for telling me," she finally whispered.

"You're welcome," he murmured in return.

"Does anyone else know?"

"Excepting people back home?" he asked. "No. Just you."

She could tell this had been hard for John; that it was not a topic he really liked discussing. She felt honoured that he trusted her enough to tell her this. And she felt closer to him having heard it.

Her husband had been quite the scoundrel. Why did she find that suddenly appealing?

Before she knew what she was doing she had leaned over and pressed her lips softly against her husband's. John seemed to freeze for just a moment, but soon enough, he was kissing her back.

Their first true kiss since their wedding day.

* * *

It was less than a week after Angelica arrived at the Pastures when Eliza told her the news.

"I'm having another baby."

Angelica didn't need to ask her sister if she was sure. While she had not been with child nearly as many times as their mother, Eliza would still know for certain.

But she looked anything but happy.

She had only seen Eliza during her first pregnancy, when she was expecting Philip. But this would be her sixth child. Angelica knew her sister's anxieties had nothing to do with the pregnancy itself.

With the news that the former Treasury Secretary had had an affair spreading across the country, Eliza would be doubting Alexander's love for her just as much, if not more so, than his fidelity.

If he had taken this girl to bed, who was to say it hadn't happened before. How many others were there? Even with the atrocious spelling, Angelica could tell the letters between him and Mrs. Reynolds were every bit as flirtatious as…

Oh no!

She remembered those letters Alexander had sent to her.

_my dearest, Angelica_

The comma that made all the difference. She was his dearest.

Now that she thought about it, that phrase had appeared in several letters, many since the summer.

She had never thought anything of them. There wasn't anything wrong with the letters, however coquettish they might be, was there? She loved Alexander. She had loved him since the first day they met, at the ball almost twenty years ago.

Angelica would never let it turn into anything more. No matter how much she loved Alexander she wouldn't do that to Eliza.

But had she?

Had she just been telling herself that the letters were harmless, finding excuses to keep receiving them? To be with Alexander in the only way she could?

Had he, in a sense, been unfaithful to Eliza, because of her?

It made her want to be sick.

Her sister didn't seem to notice her voice shake as she responded: "How are you feeling?"

She thought it was a good a question as she could ask. Saying she was happy for her, or that it was wonderful news, was not prudent. But asking after her may not be in such poor taste.

"I thought he loved me," Eliza wept.

'So did I,' thought Angelica. For all his charisma and bravado, she had never thought Alexander would betray Eliza.

Oh, how foolish she'd been.

"This didn't happen yesterday. It's been five years," she continued. "What if everything since then was a lie?"

_What if this child would be born, not out love, but out of some primal male desire?_

_Had the boys, all born after that summer, been the same way?_

She knew Eliza couldn't bear that thought.

Angelica sighed. She knew it couldn't be true; that Alexander really did love Eliza. Even with his despicable behaviour and desire for this Mrs. Reynolds – and _her?_ – she knew he loved his wife.

She didn't know how Eliza would take the news, but she decided she should know it nonetheless.

"I saw him before I came up here," she said softly. "I wanted to see if you were at home."

Eliza sniffled.

"He misses you," she continued. "I could tell."

"Does he?" Eliza asked shakily. "Or does he just miss…"

'my body' went unsaid, but Angelica knew her sister heard it as loud as she did.

"You," she said confidently. "You needn't forgive him, or even love him back, but you should know that."

"Thank you," Eliza whispered. "But – but I'm not ready just yet."

Angelica nodded, and both sisters were silent, until Eliza gasped, her face paler than before.

"What if…." she stammered, almost as if she were gasping for air. "W-what if there was a child? What if she…"

She broke off, dissolving into sobs once more. Angelica held her tighter, but her heart dropped all over again. Her sister had brought up a valid point; what if Alexander had had a child with his mistress?

Would he even know?

She shook her head. They couldn't think about that now. She placed her hand on his sister's still-flat stomach.

"It won't change the fact that this child will be wonderful," she assured her sister. "Nothing can change that."

They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally Angelica spoke:

"But you have to tell Alexander," she said.

"No," Eliza replied firmly. "Not after what he's done."

"He needs to know."

_Needs to know. Not deserves to know._

Eliza sighed. "Very well."

She looked up at Angelica, the silent question on her face. _Will you tell him?_

"Yes."

* * *

Eliza had thrown herself into looking after the children with an intensity Angelica had never seen. She wouldn't let Alice or any of the other maids attend to them, instead spending all her time with them.

Angelica was worried she might run herself into the ground, especially now that she was with child again, but she knew she couldn't force Eliza to stop. Her best approach was to help her and look after the children alongside her, reducing the strain without removing it entirely.

And now, in the upstairs parlour, with a fire burning in the corner of the room, Alexander and his foolish, destructive behaviour were the last things on her mind. As she watched her sister with her children, Angelica smiled.

The two youngest were clutching their mother tightly, and Angelica noticed Eliza looked…content? She certainly wasn't looking as devastated as she had when Angelica first arrived, but she knew Eliza was putting on a brave face, while her heart was broken inside.

She thought back to the news she'd heard earlier. What would this child be like? He didn't need his father's mind or charisma. The kindness of his mother would be much more important.

Her sister was strong. Stronger than she seemed, and stronger than anyone would assume.

She might not have Alexander, but she had her children. And her sister.

And that would be enough.

Eliza would make sure that was enough.

And Angelica would help her.

* * *

**As you can see, I've given some of the children nicknames so we won't mix them up with their namesakes, and I've aged the boys down to fit with Philip's line in _Take a Break_.**

**Eliza really was pregnant when the _Reynolds Pamphlet_ was published (though she was much further along), and John's backstory is told in that tiny brief paragraph because, honestly, it confuses me. But in a very basic sense, that's what happened.**

**Hope you are all continuing to enjoy. Have a great day.**


	4. Seeing The Light

Autumn, 1797

No matter how slow one walked, they would eventually arrive at their destination. And Angelica didn't stop.

She tried to tell herself, over and over again, that she was making the journey to Alex and Eliza's house slowly because it was a beautiful day, and she wanted to savour it, or that taking her time was necessary given she had been in London for so long and was still acquainting herself with the city.

But she knew that neither were the truth.

She'd left the Pastures immediately after she'd breakfasted, and now it was surely almost time for luncheon, and she still hadn't made it into the city proper.

No, she was dawdling because she was anxious about the visit. About seeing Alexander again.

* * *

He opened the door looking more haggard than the last time Angelica had seen him. And he had looked terrible then.

His clothes were completely dishevelled, and almost seemed to be hanging off his frame. His glasses were askew; looking like they could fall off at any moment.

She briefly wondered if she could have caused this. Eliza had left for the Pastures as soon as the pamphlet had been published, but that had been almost four months ago.

Had her appearance in New York been that last nail in the coffin, or was Alexander's current state merely the cumulative result of how long he'd been by himself?

Whatever the case, this wasn't strain from working, or stress – she'd seen that before. No this was different. And much more serious.

What had he been doing? Or, more likely, what _hadn't_ he been doing.

"Angelica…?" he said softly, wide-eyed.

"Alexan–

She began, but was interrupted when he spoke again.

"Is something wrong? Is Eliza – are the children –"

He sounded frantic. As terrible as everything that had happened had been, Angelica had never see Alexander so vulnerable.

"Yes, yes," she assured him. Seeing him again wasn't as painful as she'd expected. Not the way it had been the day she first arrived back in New York.

"Everyone is in good health. Actually, Eliza's pregnant."

A smile lit up his face. "Really?"

He looked away almost immediately; his smile vanished, and his voice became soft once again. "That – that's wonderful."

Just like when Eliza first told her the news, Angelica was unsure of what to say, even more so here with Alexander. Thankfully, she was spared having to respond when he kept talking.

"She asked you to tell me, didn't she?" he was resigned.

Angelica nodded.

Sighing, she reached up and gently touched his shoulder. Her assumptions were confirmed; he seemed to be barely more than skin and bones. Had he been eating at all?

"Alexander," she sighed. "You need to rest."

Forcing him to look at her, she added, for good measure: "to go to sleep." To Alexander _rest_ and _sleep_ were not the same thing.

He still said nothing. He wasn't looking after himself, and he had nothing to say. She could not tell what it was exactly that he regretted, but she knew, unquestionably, he did regret something. From the moment he was born, he had constantly been on the move, but now he was still and silent.

Angelica knew it wasn't about his career or his legacy. Not this time. When he heard the news that John Laurens had died, he had thrown himself into his work, pushing himself to the point of exhaustion. He wasn't doing anything like that now.

He wasn't doing _anything_.

It was almost as if he wanted to die; as if death was the only fitting punishment for his actions.

"I know you chose your career over your family," she sighed "But you can't fix that now. Take a break and look after yourself."

She could scarcely believe what she was saying. She felt as though she were condoning his actions. She should want him to burn, to hurt as much as he'd hurt Eliza, to lose any shred of pride he may have left, but she couldn't help it. She still cared about him.

He was still, and always would be, her first love.

Her_ first_ love?

Why had she suddenly thought that?

"I don't deserve your forgiveness. I know that," he sighed, breaking her reverie. "I certainly don't deserve hers."

Eliza was the best thing in his life, and seeing him like this – seeing how much he loved her – pleased Angelica just as much as it upset her.

"But could you just tell her –"

"Yes."

" – that I love her?"

"Yes."

"Thank you," he whispered with a nod.

"She loves you too," Angelica replied. "She told me so herself."

"She shouldn't."

"Maybe not," she mused. "But she does."

"And the children?"

"I promise I'll tell them," Angelica vowed. "Now, you need to get some sleep."

He looked as if he wanted to protest. How on Earth he could have the strength to do that was beyond her, but Alexander was nothing if not relentless, so she said the one thing she knew could make him listen:

"For Eliza?"

His shoulders sagged, but he said nothing. He simply took her hand and kissed it.

She smiled. Barely; but she smiled.

* * *

The journey home was much faster. Alice and some of the other maids were setting out afternoon tea when she arrived back. Her mother and father were in the parlour, her father, as was common nowadays, resting his legs to alleviate the pains from his old war wounds. She could see Kitty and Cornelia in the garden, but her other sister was nowhere to be found.

Angelica debated going to find Eliza but eventually decided against it. The last thing she needed was a reminder of her husband, even if he had all but broken himself in repentance. So she took a seat on the lounge beside her mother, poured herself some tea and helped herself to a sweet biscuit.

Angelica was relieved that neither of her parents asked where she had been earlier. She did not think they would entirely approve of her calling on her brother-in-law – Alexander was not exactly in his father-in-law's good graces at the moment.

But it was almost as embarrassing when her mother started talking about John. She wondered if either of them knew about his unglamorous past, because they only had positive things to say. She remained quiet and noncommittal as her mother extolled her husband's virtues, and her father continually remarked what good company he was.

It was almost as if they were indirectly punishing Alexander, though Angelica knew neither would admit that. All she could do was sit there, trying to sort through the new and unusual emotions she was feeling, and getting nowhere.

* * *

Returning to her bedroom required Angelica to pass the upper floor parlour. But this evening, the sounds of whispered conversation made her pause outside.

The door was ajar, and through it she saw her husband sitting inside. Her five year old nephew was next to him. She couldn't gauge what they were conversing about, but both seemed to being enjoying themselves immensely.

Everything that followed seemed to happen at a glacial pace, and instantly at the same time.

Angelica had never been one for the romances so many young girls seemed to swoon over, and now, at her age, she never imagined she would have anything of the kind.

If it had been completely up to her, she wouldn't have ever married. She had always wanted an equal more than a lover, someone to intellectually spar with. She was never content – even now – to sit back and be a passive, perfect wife. Parties and soirees were one thing, but sitting at home idly was another matter entirely; her witticisms went unused, and her brain was always desperate for some kind of stimulation.

On many an occasion she had been in the company of Thomas Jefferson himself. But even if he would have listened to her revolutionary ideas, her status hadn't allowed her to broach the subject.

Women weren't to be in the sequel just yet.

She had met her match in Alexander; only to give him up for her sister's happiness. The day her sister married was the day she gave up on love.

Yet here she was, with cheeks as red as roses and a butterfly-filled stomach.

But then again, maybe she hadn't. Certainly John had never challenged her the way Alexander had. Given the dynamic of their relationship, for the vast majority of their marriage they had been little more than acquaintances.

Maybe, whatever she thought, she actually did want a romanticised world; a man who would challenge her heart as much as her mind.

She watched her husband with Xander and her heart swelled. It was such a heart-warming sight, and she instantly knew she'd seen it before.

It hadn't been with Xander, but it had been with his father.

Alexander had always cared more about his career and his image than his family. But watching John with Xander, she was reminded of Alex, and how much he did care about his family. Putting his ego aside, it was one of the things she loved the most about him.

She had only seen it a few times, those stolen moments with Philip and Angie, and of course Eliza. But no matter how brief, she knew she would not forget it.

She would never forget this either.

Could it be…?

She thought back to her earlier call to Alexander; how she found she couldn't wholeheartedly despise him because he was her first love.

Her husband turned and, seeing her through the door, smiled a small half-smile.

Angelica felt her heart beating faster, pounding like a drum, melting like butter on toast. She felt as though she'd changed in some irreversible way, that would've been completely unfamiliar if she hadn't experienced it once before.

Seventeen years ago, at a winter's ball, her life had changed forever. And now, at her childhood home, it had changed again. In exactly the same way.

She was drawn back to that night. For a long time, she had thought she'd regret it forever. She should, maybe now more than ever, but she realised she did not. She couldn't.

Because the memory was hazy, like a long-ago daydream, and the man in her mind kissing her hand was no longer Alexander Hamilton.

It was John Barker Church.

Angelica could see it in her mind – the picture clear and hazy at the same time: a small house, with a big garden and a library just as big. Visits from Alexander and her sisters, maybe even her brothers from time to time. Just her and John.

A little place all their own in New York.

It was possible now. He'd come with her. He'd insisted on coming with her, despite knowing she wouldn't return.

She had had visions before her wedding; but they were all tinged with loneliness and tedium. This…

She wanted this. She wanted this to be real.

And just like that, her heart stopped.

Angelica was sure she was blushing, but she didn't care. She smiled back at her husband.

* * *

"Angelica," a voice asked. "What is it?"

Eliza had appeared in the hall and she hadn't even noticed.

Just like that, her bliss disappeared; replaced by anxiety and dread. She knew Eliza wouldn't drop the subject, and that she would see through any lie Angelica could think to tell.

But how could she say this? Her sister life in the past few months had been the worst nightmare imaginable, all because of the person she loved most in the world.

How could Angelica tell her sister her revelation at a time like this?

"Angelica?"

"Betsey," her voice was barely audible. She didn't even turn around until the last possible moment. "I – I think I'm in love."


	5. Look At Where We Are

Autumn, 1797

A smile spread across Eliza's face, and Angelica exhaled in relief. Eliza knew it wasn't about Alexander, and her smile was genuine. Angelica loved her little sister more than herself, and if she hadn't known that the feeling was mutual before today, she did now.

"That's…that's wonderful…"

Her voice faded as she spoke, and she looked askance, mirroring almost perfectly what Angelica had seen Alexander do earlier.

"Congratulations."

"Eliza, please," Angelica said, a lump in her throat. "You need not feel happy for me. I hate the fact that such happiness has found me, given what has happened to you."

"I am happy," Eliza insisted. "I – I just have a lot happening right now."

Angelica knew this wasn't the entire truth, and she could tell Eliza knew that. But she also knew her sister _was_ happy for her; and given everything she had been through, Angelica knew it would be foolish as well as futile to say anything more. So she simply said:

"Thank you."

* * *

John had been only too happy to accompany Angelica into the city. It had been long enough that they needed to start looking for a home of their own.

She had made it very clear to her husband that they wouldn't move yet; she would leave the Pastures when Eliza did. She didn't want to travel more than a few blocks to comfort her sister.

After some time they found an address both she and John deemed suitable. It reminded her of the house back in London as much as it reminded her of her New York City.

She realised that both places had been her home. This building wasn't a home yet, but innately, Angelica knew it would be one day.

It was much like Alex and Eliza's home, if slightly smaller, and very nearby; and as such no further from the Pastures. Calling on either her parents or her sister would not be, in any way, difficult.

There was more than enough space for the two of them, but that was exactly what she wanted. She wanted a home of her own with John, and, if the Lord were willing, children of her own to love just as she loved Eliza's children.

Angelica thought it was perfect.

* * *

"Did you want take this as your bedroom?" John asked when they made it to the second storey. "I could –"

"I thought we could share," she interrupted, turning to her husband with a smile. "If you, I mean, if that is something that would make you happy."

She had always had her own bedroom, even after all these years. Because they were just friends. Or so she'd thought.

But now things were changing.

If she didn't love John yet, she would soon.

* * *

It was if he knew her thoughts, for he came to her bedroom that night. Every other time he'd bid her good night just as she retired.

Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him in the doorway. She knew he loved her. She wanted to let him know she cared about him. Wanted to show him that she loved him just as much.

If she didn't say it now, she didn't know if she would ever be able to. So she looked up at John and whispered: "I love you."

Being here with her husband, like this, with her newfound knowledge about how she felt about him, most of her confidence had disappeared.

But that wasn't the only reason for her voice being so soft. What she had said was the truth, but…

"And…" he looked vaguely uncomfortable for a moment, "…and Alexander?"

"I -"

"It's alright," he whispered. "I know. I always have."

Angelica already knew this, in a sense. But hearing John say it was different. He understood that she still loved – and likely always would love – Alexander, and he did not hold that against her.

"Yes," she admitted. "But he's better for Eliza."

She paused. "Eliza's better for him."

In a lot of ways she was too similar to Alexander. But Eliza wasn't. She could make him better in ways Angelica would never be able to.

"Does it bother you?" John asked. "That you couldn't be with him?"

"No. Not anymore," she replied happily. "I'm happy with my life as it is now."

"That's all I've ever wanted for you," he murmured.

He wanted her to be happy, whatever that meant for him. Alexander didn't deserve Eliza, but Angelica was wondering if she deserved John.

"Will you stay?" she asked in a whisper. Was this how her mother had felt on her wedding night; what Eliza had felt. Angelica knew that now those words had left her lips, there was no turning back.

"Are you asking what I think you are?" John asked, surprised.

Angelica nodded mutely.

"Of course I will," he smiled. "But are you sure? I don't want you to have any regrets."

Angelica knew that the biggest regret she could have was having not taken this step.

Her sister had birthed five children, and would soon birth another, yet she, at forty-one, was still as virginal as her youngest sister, sixteen year old Kitty.

But now she wanted that to change.

She now realised she had wanted it to for some time. She didn't want to die a spinster. Her mother had been with child over a dozen times, even though half the babes hadn't made it past a few months old, if they made it to term at all.

It wasn't called making love for nothing, surely.

She had simply never considered it a possibility after she stood by and let Eliza marry Alexander. But now that she had John things were different.

And she knew her husband would take care of her.

It felt somewhat peculiar, the reality that she would be consummating her marriage in her childhood home, more than it did the fact that it was happening over a decade after the official ceremony, but she remembered that this was where Eliza had been on her wedding night. Peggy had eloped, so she would not have but, if Kitty and Cornelia didn't follow her lead, they were likely to spend their wedding nights at the Pastures.

"I won't," she assured him, before pausing to amend her statement:

"I don't. About anything. It wasn't what I imagined, but now, I wouldn't change anything."

"I just want you to be happy," John said. "Will this make you happy?"

"Yes."

She leaned her face up and kissed her husband. His arms went around his neck, while his went around her waist, pulling her flush against him.

"Make love to me John," she whispered, her breathing heavy. "Please."

He drew her closer, reached up and pulled the pins from her hair. It fell down her back, and she shuddered.

She wasn't sure whether her legs were shaking from excitement or nerves as John led her to the bed.

* * *

Angelica smiled as she felt the sun streaming through the windows onto her closed eyes. She didn't want to open them just yet.

She finally understood why her mother had braved more pregnancies despite her many miscarriages and lost infants, why Eliza had all the beautiful children she did, and why she was so devastated at the knowledge that Alexander had taken another woman to bed.

"Good morning, Mrs. Church."

She opened her eyes to see John propped up on one elbow and smiling down at her. A smile full of all the love he'd shown her the night before.

"It is, isn't it?" she replied.

* * *

Winter, 1797

Autumn faded into winter and the days grew shorter and colder. But along with that, things seemed to become slower and calmer. Eliza seemed to be getting happier every day and, though things were hardly perfect, and would likely never be the same, one would not call the atmosphere at the Pastures unhappy.

But then tragedy struck.

Philip had retired earlier than usual one night with a bad headache. He hadn't made it to breakfast the next morning, and when Eliza went to check on him just before noon, she came flying down the stairs not five minutes later, nothing but dread and panic on her face.

The doctor was sent for immediately.

"Typhus," he diagnosed soberly.

The news affected Eliza more than the publication of _The Reynolds Pamphlet_, as Alexander's ninety-five page response to the allegations of speculation against him had come to be known. Angelica felt terrible, having fallen completely head over heels in love in the last few weeks while Eliza had been through nothing but heartbreak since the summer; making love to her husband every other night while her sister was all alone, questioning what was undoubtedly the biggest choice she'd ever made in her life.

She was planning for the future while Eliza seemed almost stuck in the present, maybe unable to ever move forward.

After everything her sister had gone through, Angelica hadn't thought it could possibly get worse, but it had. Public humiliation was one thing, but your child's life in danger was quite another; something worse than anything else.

Angelica couldn't say she was wholly surprised at her sister's first words after the doctor left.

"Send for Alexander."

* * *

Alexander arrived the following day.

Philip's condition had not worsened, but it had not improved either. The doctor had ordered his patient to stay in bed, and advised that he be monitored on a regular basis should anything change.

Everyone, from the doctor to Angelica to the children themselves had told Eliza to stay away from her son for the sake of the unborn baby, and pray that everything would be alright, but she wouldn't leave Philip's bedside.

"Where is he?" Alexander demanded, panicked and desperate.

Every time Angelica had seen her brother-in-law since returning to America he looked worse than he had before.

He must have been riding all night.

"Upstairs."

Angelica followed him upstairs, but stayed outside in the hallway. Alexander didn't pause when he saw Eliza was in the room, kneeling by the bed. Maybe he didn't see her at all.

Eliza didn't push him away when he rushed to the bedside.

She caught a glimpse of her nephew inside as Alex opened the door. His eyes were closed, his breathing laboured, his face flush with fever. Eliza's hand looked ghost white, clutching his, which was bright red as a result of the rash.

* * *

Time seemed to slow down until Angelica heard Eliza scream. She knew what it meant, and she felt as heartbroken as she knew her sister was. Her niece and nephews were the closest thing she had to children. Maybe they always would be.

But only moments later, she heard Eliza whispering softly. She could have been mistaken, but it didn't sound like the anger and heartbreak of the scream her sister had made moments before.

Then, most surprising of all, the door opened and Alexander and Eliza walked out, arm-in-arm and smiling hesitantly at each other.

"He's survived," Eliza whispered, turning to Angelica. "The Lord spared him."

Angelica sighed in joy and smiled. This did not make the experience any less tragic or horrifying, but at least there was a happy ending this time. Eliza needed one after all this time.

So did Alexander.

"I'll go," he murmured, extricating himself from Eliza's hold.

As had been the case the last time she'd seen Alexander, his response was hardly unexpected, but it warmed Angelica's heart once more to see how much he cared about Eliza. Like all the sacrifices John had made for her, Alexander was finally putting his wife first because he loved her so much.

Eliza's reaction _did _surprise her however.

"No, it's alright," she told her husband with a shake of her head. "Stay. Please."

His eyes widened, and the smile that spread across his face was one of awe and gratitude more than it was one of happiness. He reached out and gently placed his hands on his wife's stomach. She was showing now, though in the new, fashionable dresses that had done away with corsets and had only a waistline that ended under the bust, it was harder than ever to tell.

Angelica felt awkward, as if she was intruding on a private moment, but neither her sister nor her brother-in-law seemed to notice she was there.

"I love you," whispered Alexander.

"Please," Eliza repeated. "Stay."

"Of course."

* * *

**As far as I can tell Philip really did get sick with typhus around this time. Of course we all know he survived, but I wanted a way for Alexander and Eliza to (somewhat) make up, so... **  
**Also I hope things with Angelica and John didn't seem too far-fetched.**

**Have a great day.**


	6. Interlude

Winter, 1798

William Hamilton was born one cold morning in early January. Not once had Eliza complained, even as she laboured through the night. Tended to by Alice and some of the other maids, along with their mother – something that had not happened since Philip had been born – Angelica knew her little sister had, for the first time in years, relaxed and let herself be taken care of.

When Angelica went to see her youngest nephew, she found Alexander sitting in the chair by Eliza's bed, holding her hand and looking at his newborn son with awe.

Neither noticed she was there for a long time.

Angelica was just as happy to see that as she was to meet her new nephew.

Philip's illness had brought Alex and Eliza together again. They weren't acting like newlyweds, or even overly affectionate but everyone could see Eliza's anger at her husband had abated.

* * *

They left the Pastures just before spring.

Alexander had returned to the city earlier, with all the children except little William. He had insisted they all stay until Eliza and the baby were fit for travelling, but Eliza declined.

So he went; taking Angie and the boys back to the city. He never refused her anymore.

"I guess that means it's time," John said a couple days later.

"I guess it does," Angelica replied softly. She was far more excited than she sounded. She turned to face her husband. "Let's go home."

* * *

Despite everything, Angelica still found herself at Alex and Eliza's house just as much as her own. Her eldest sister instincts had never disappeared; she still wanted to ensure Eliza was alright. And her sister had not once complained about her attentiveness.

John didn't accompany her on a great number of her excursions, so Angelica relished every moment she could spend with her husband, especially now that Eliza was in a much better place. They were making up for all the years they'd spend married, yet as nothing more than friends.

Everybody was making up for lost time. She would spend time with her nieces and nephews, visiting her friends from what seemed like a million years ago, realising that despite her newfound happiness, she had lost so much when she left for London.

Every day was new, and whether it was her sister and Alexander, her and John, or something else, it was always better than the one before in some way or another, and each day New York felt more like home.

It was nothing like what Angelica expected home to feel like; but she knew it was home.

The home she never knew she wanted.

* * *

Autumn, 1799

Time continued.

Just under two years after William was born, Eliza gave birth to her seventh child; a daughter Alexander had insisted on naming after her bare minutes after the babe was placed in its mothers arms.

"Eliza," he'd insisted resolutely. "Not Elizabeth."

And so it was. They called her Lissi for short.

* * *

New Year's Eve, 1799

Everyone returned to the Pastures to celebrate the New Year. Alexander made no hesitations about making time for a holiday, nor did Eliza hesitate about him coming. All her brothers were there, and Peggy, all her nieces and nephews, made hazy in her memory from the long years in London; and for the first time since the summer of 1797, Angelica was truly surrounded by _everyone_ she held dear.

Anyone could see Eliza had only been made stronger by her trials, and Angelica had never been happier in her life.

By the end of tonight it would be 1800.

It wasn't just a new year. It was a new century.

A new start.

* * *

**I don't know if I'm completely satisfied with this chapter, but given what it is, I don't know if I ever would be. So it is what it is. We're not done yet.**

**Have a great day.**


	7. Family Brings Out A Different Side Of Me

Summer, 1800

As the socialite who had rubbed shoulders with the likes of Thomas Jefferson, Angelica had found she could easily fit in to any conversation. Other women may have had no interest in the intellectual pursuits that so greatly fascinated her; but that mattered little to her. The only people Angelica had ever wanted approval from was her family; and despite not everyone enjoying, or approving of her unorthodox interests, it didn't matter. They approved of _he_r.

Her brothers loved the fact that their sister could match their level of intelligence, while their wives could indulge in her tales of the glamorous soirees. She could be talking to John and Jeremiah and Rensselaer about politics or literature one moment, and to Lizette and Sarah and Ellie about fashion or family the next.

There were entirely too many Elizabeths and Philips in their family. And yet… as Angelica watched Peggy's three children with their other cousins, she couldn't deny that she would love it if her children were named after her sister or brother.

But in the interim Angelica was simply happy to be around to see them growing up. At sixteen, Angie was a child no longer. John, who had been barely one when Angelica first met him in 1797, was now four. And little William, who had been born soon after she arrived, would be three at the beginning of next year.

Quite recently, all things considered, she had baffled at the fact that her sister had seven children, and that, despite several of the children not even making out of infancy, her mother had been with child almost double that.

But now she understood.

* * *

At the beginning of the year, she and John had discussed the idea of getting some staff for their house. As much as Angelica considered herself an independent woman, even she couldn't call herself young any longer, and the idea of having someone to help around the house was a great comfort.

That was when they were introduced to Sophia. Sophia was a young black girl that had made the acquaintance of Alex and Eliza through _The New York Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves_, which Alexander had formed some years ago.

With the group's help, she had managed to escape her former owner, but it was hardly freedom. And as much as Angelica knew her sister would've taken in every person she could, she didn't have that luxury. And she and John were only too happy to provide Sophia with a home.

And it was definitely a home. Alex had been so adamant about Sophia receiving a wage or some form of compensation that he said he'd pay her himself if she and John wouldn't. But neither she nor John hesitated at that.

Angelica remembered all the men, women, and even children that had worked at the Pastures over the years. She had, on many occasions considered some of them her friends. She liked to believe they were treated fairly, but maybe she was kidding herself. They had still owned those people.

_All men are created equal._

Jefferson might be a hypocrite, but Angelica wasn't going to let herself be one too.

* * *

Autumn, 1800

Angelica thought her life would never change more drastically than it did when she returned to New York three years earlier. Even falling in love, though certainly more powerful, had not been as radical.

But towards the middle of November, the impossible happened.

She was with child.

Initially she thought her monthly courses had simply reached their end, but when bouts of nausea and hypersensitivity followed, she knew the truth.

She was utterly overcome with emotion, both unbridled joy and sheer terror. She was going to be a mother. The Lord had given her greatest gift possible.

But how would John react? The moment when she realised she loved him was when she saw him with little Xander. She knew her niece and nephews thought of him as their uncle just as much as they did Alexander, and that the feeling was mutual. But did he want children of his own?

She made her way downstairs, to some degree without realising that she was doing it, her hand cradling her still-flat stomach.

* * *

She remained that way for the rest of the day. Still processing this monumental news, Angelica didn't realise how completely unlike herself she was acting until John confronted her.

"Are you all right?" he asked. "You didn't eat at breakfast. You seem tired and, well quite frankly, nervous."

Her husband could not have been more right. She was nervous. But he had noticed, so the time to tell him was now.

"John," she began, her voice quivering. "I-I need to tell you something."

"Of course," he replied. "What is it?"

She took a deep breath. Why was this so hard?

"Angelica?"

"I'm pregnant," she blurted.

She closed her eyes for a moment, not knowing how her husband would react, and not ready to find out. But when she looked she saw a smile had lit his face, and he stood up to take her in his arms.

As soon as he did she relaxed completely. Seeing how happy he was made her realise just how happy she was. With the truth revealed, it felt real in a way it hadn't before.

"I never thought I would be a father," he said.

"I didn't know this was something I wanted," she replied. Certainly she had thought about it in the years since her departure from London, but she knew the Angelica of years past would've brushed it off without so much as a second glance. She didn't have a love-filled marriage, so why would there be children?

But now…

John's hand went to her stomach.

"I love you."

* * *

A week went by and Angelica hadn't told her sister about the baby. She didn't know how, for she truly did not know how she would take the news. Despite their reconciliation following Philip's illness, Alex and Eliza's relationship was still precarious.

She'd begged John not to say anything, and he'd agreed without hesitation. But until she told Eliza she knew she couldn't tell anyone outside the house.

But she also knew she was running out of time. December was almost upon them. Though only she and John, in their most intimate moments, could tell she was showing, that wouldn't last. And to Angelica, withholding the true was just as bad as telling falsehoods. Especially when it came to Eliza.

She wanted to tell her in person, but the news also needed to reach her parents, Peggy and her husband, and her brothers.

_Tomorrow…_ she promised herself as she and John were sitting in the upstairs parlour for tea. _Tomorrow she would tell people, starting with Eliza._

She had barely touched the biscuits Sophia had laid out for them, but she had managed to finish her tea.

"Maybe you should rest for a little while," John suggested. He had been doting on here almost as much as Sophia since she'd told him the news.

Angelica smiled. Normally she was not one to be ordered around – even by her husband – but she couldn't deny that the pregnancy was taxing and she felt exhausted quite often.

"Alright," she nodded. She looked down at her swelling belly. She loved her child more every day.

He leaned over and kissed her cheek, and she turned to leave the room, already looking forward to just sinking into bed and relaxing.

She hadn't made it more than two steps when they heard a knock at the door.

* * *

**Alexander did found _The New York Society for Promoting the Manumission of Slaves, _(along with Burr) and they did indeed give shelter to freed slaves; though Sophia is entirely fictional, and I honestly don't know how big her role will be in this story. **

**And I apologise in advance...**


	8. Before We Got To Ten

**I'm sorry**

* * *

Autumn, 1800

Angelica barely had time to process what was happening. The second John had opened the door a young man, whom she vaguely recognised, came rushing through, a body limp in his arms.

She nearly screamed.

It was Philip.

"I got him here as fast as I could," the boy panted.

"I'm Richard," he added, likely guessing Angelica's thought process.

Richard. Richard Price. That's why she knew him. He was one of Philip's friends from college. That however, still did not explain why he was here, with her nephew in his arms, spasming and groaning.

But specifics could wait. Adrenaline and instinct overtook thought in Angelica's brain. She didn't even ask what had happened.

"Get him upstairs."

* * *

Moments later his friend had laid him down on the bed in the guest room. Blood was pooling around his left side, staining the sheet red. Angelica knew that Philip had little to no idea where he was or what was going on.

Neither she, nor John, nor Richard realised Sophia had followed until she screamed. The poor girl couldn't stand the sight of blood.

"It's okay," John told her soothingly. "You go."

Sophia hesitated. After so many years of being another person's literal property, she still had a hard time forcing herself to not blindly obey commands.

"It's okay," Angelica reiterated, not moving her eyes from where her nephew lay on the bed.

"What happened?" she asked the second the girl had fled.

"Shot," Richard explained. "By George Eacker. Out in Jersey."

"He was duelling?"

Richard nodded.

Angelica looked up at her husband. "Did you know about this?"

John didn't need to answer. His face was pale as death, and she knew this was just as much of a shock to him as it was to her.

"Have you called for the doctor?" John asked.

"He's on his way," the boy answered.

"What about Eliza?" pressed Angelica, frantic. "Alexander?"

She hadn't the faintest idea as to why Philip would be rushed to her house rather than his own, but she could barely focus on that now.

Richard didn't answer, so she looked up at her husband. He was out the door the next second.

"Why would he do such a thing?" Angelica asked Richard.

"He….belittled…Pa…" Philip choked out. His eyes were unfocused, his breathing was laborious, every word a battle to speak; yet the boy was determined to tell her.

"What?" she asked. "When?"

"Fourth of July," Richard answered.

Now that he'd said it, she vaguely remembered hearing something of that effect back in the summer, as a piece of idle gossip.

Philip had said nothing.

"That was months ago," she said, knowing how stupid a comment it was.

"We went to the theatre to talk to him," the boy continued.

"You confronted him?" she asked Philip.

"He...called…us…rascals."

If it were any other situation, Angelica might have laughed. Philip was so like his father. Irrationally reacting to what equated to schoolyard taunts without a second thought.

That was the reason Alex had publicly announced his affair. And now, it had Philip lying on the bed in her guest room, struggling to breathe and barely lucid.

God, what had they done with their lives?

* * *

Dr. Hosack's arrival startled Angelica somewhat. It was as though she had been in a trance since Richard had laid Philip down on the bed.

The physician seemed barely fazed as he stepped inside. Angelica's stomach roiled at the mere thought that, for doctors, this was not that uncommon an occurrence.

He set the bag down on the side table and carefully began to rummage through it. The first thing he removed was a flask full of an amber liquid, with a stopper at the neck.

Laudanum.

"Get him to drink this," he ordered. "It will help."

Richard took the bottle and uncorked it. Angelica moved to her nephew's side, helping him to sit up as best he could. Despite knowing this was the right course of action – the only course of action – she felt horrible as he grimaced, and Richard all but forced the liquid down his throat.

A moment later he was breathing slightly easier. Or maybe it was just Angelica's imagination. But he definitely looked more relaxed; leaving Dr. Hosack with a better opportunity to examine his patient.

It took less than a minute for him to arrive at a diagnosis. The bullet had entered above Philip's hip and become lodged in his left arm.

"What does that mean?" she asked desperately. "Will he live?"

It had been so hard for her to say that final sentence.

"I'll do everything I can Mrs. Church," the doctor answered solemnly.

He didn't need to say any more.

* * *

Alexander arrived too soon and not soon enough. When your child was in such a state, how could you not be there with them? But how could you possibly prepare yourself for it?

Angelica was standing in the corner of the room, near the window – Dr. Hosack had told her she couldn't be any closer – but she could hear John downstairs, talking to him.

"Lost a lot of blood…doing everything he can….already infected when he arrived."

Alex was screaming desperately at him, and the door burst open a moment later and he came barrelling through the room to his son's side.

"Philip?"

He had completely ignored the doctor, but it didn't matter; he seemed to understand, and stepped aside slightly so Philip could see his father.

"Pa," the boy opened his eyes just long enough for the single word to escape his lips.

"I did exactly…as you said Pop," he told his father. "I held my…head up high."

_'As you said?' _Alexander had known?

Alexander had known Philip was going to duel Eacker? And he didn't stop him?

Angelica knew the _code duello_ as well as any man. She knew her brother-in-law would never have planned on this outcome. Alexander would've told Philip about the _delope_; told his son not to shoot at his opponent, to surrender honourably. But he hadn't had a backup plan?

She wasn't sure if that was a good thing or a bad thing, but she knew of course he wouldn't have a backup plan.

He never did. That was just how Alexander worked in situations such as these. Anything before dishonour.

"Save your strength and stay alive!" he begged.

Less than a moment later – or maybe it had been hours; Angelica could no longer tell - the door flew open, revealing Eliza. She didn't notice her sister. Alexander called out her name, but she gave no indication that she had heard him.

"Is he breathing?!" she screamed, scrabbling her way to the bedside. "Is he going to survive this?"

Angelica hadn't been there when Philip had contracted typhus. All she had seen was one glimpse through the door, and then Alex and Eliza leaving the room arm-in-arm.

Now could not be more different.

Eliza rounded on her husband. "Who did this, Alexander did you know?"

"Ma," Philip's soft, hoarse voice drew her attention back to him. "I'm so sorry…for forgetting…what you taught me."

"My son," Eliza patted Philip's cheek. Alexander stood stiffly next to his wife, almost in shock.

Mother and son were abnormally calm, almost peaceful. Though Angelica could see she was on the verge of tears, Eliza was composed as she and Philip reminisced about the past, those long ago days full of nothing but summer sunshine and piano lessons.

"You changed the melody every time," she sighed.

"I would always…change the line," Philip almost seemed to giggle.

"I know. I know."

Angelica could see how brave her sister was being. She knew Eliza as well as she knew herself. Now, just like those months following the publication of _The Reynolds Pamphlet_, Eliza had hidden her heart.

Whether she was doing it for Philip, or whether it was subconscious, Angelica knew not. But she did know that Eliza, at the time she should be the most distraught, was anything but. If her son hadn't been lying in a pool of blood breathing shallowly, one could've believed her to be content.

Her sister was the most selfless person she knew.

"I would always…change the line," Philip's voice was softer than it had been a moment ago.

Eliza nodded, choking back a sob, before starting to count, in French, like they always had.

Philip repeated, a beat behind his mother.

"Good," she told him gently when they reached nine. She started again.

Philip made it to three before the light left his eyes.

Eliza screamed.

Angelica knew she should leave, but she couldn't. Besides, neither Alexander nor Eliza noticed her at all.

So she was helpless to do anything but stand by and watch as her sister and brother-in-law clung to her nephew as his life literally bled out before their eyes.

_Sept huit neuf…_

* * *

**I went to history a little bit more for the chapter than what's in the song. Philip was with a friend when he confronted Eacker (who did call them rascals) so I have no problem believing he could've been his second. It was his left arm, and he was rushed to Angelica's house. I don't know why, but it worked perfectly with the story.**

**I'm sorry again.**


	9. Feels Easier To Just Swim Down

Winter, 1800

"Have you told her yet?" John asked.

Angelica sighed and shook her head.

"You can't keep the secret for much longer," he continued. "As hard as it is right now, she'll feel worse if you don't tell her."

It had been one week since Philip's funeral; December had just begun, and Angelica knew her husband was right. At the present moment it might be all but impossible for Eliza to hear, but in the future she would be grateful.

* * *

Angelica had never realised how much she had wanted a family. Back in London, she had never even considered it. But since she returned, that, like so much else, had changed.

She had thought for some time that the Lord would never bless her with children. Three years of lovemaking with John and her courses had never stopped, but now here she was, pregnant for the first time, only a month since her nephew died.

She remembered the journey she made to the Hamiltons' to tell Alexander that Eliza was expecting again. How she'd dawdled, trying to postpone the encounter as long as she could, while trying to convince herself that was not what she was doing.

She had told Eliza that Alexander needed to learn about the baby, and she had volunteered immediately to be the one to do so.

It seemed like a lifetime ago.

It _was_ a lifetime ago.

To the Angelica of that lifetime it had been hard, yet to the Angelica of now, it seemed almost trivial.

She would be delivering much the same news today. Yet it couldn't be more different.

The past few years in New York had been some of the happiest in her life, yet they had been the hardest of Eliza's. Angelica had lost count of how many times she wished it could be different, how often she wanted to take away her sister's pain, even if it meant she was hurting.

Telling Eliza she was pregnant now, Angelica felt as though she would only be adding to her sister's heartache.

She could prepare herself for anything except this.

* * *

She hesitantly knocked on the front door. Part of her hoped nobody would answer; that was a distinct possibility. Alex and Eliza had begun to pack up their house; in the wake of Philip's passing they decided a change of scenery, and would leave the city and move uptown.

It could've seemed like they were running away from the happy memories of the past that had since turned to nightmares – and maybe they were, but Angelica knew it was far more than that; and knew it would be the best for everyone.

"Come in," came a voice. Eliza. "The door is unlocked."

Angelica slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Half the furniture was gone, and at least half of what remained was in some state of dismantlement.

But that wasn't why it felt empty.

Eliza was sitting on the lounge in the otherwise bare parlour, clad in the heavy black mourning cloak she'd been wearing since her son died.

Angelica's stomach dropped.

She remembered Eliza's reaction when she told her she realised she was in love with John.

How would she react to this news, now? Her sister had never looked so miserable. Angelica had not expected anything less, but it still broke her heart seeing her like this, and she was genuinely scared about how her news would affect Eliza.

For the millionth time, she wished she had told her sooner.

"Betsey," she called softly. "It's me."

Eliza turned slowly to look at her, but didn't speak.

"I need to tell you something," Angelica continued.

"What is it?"

"I'm expecting," she said simply. There was no time for tears or hesitation; if waiting this long to tell Eliza the news was bad, drawing things out would only make things worse.

Eliza's face barely changed and, to anyone else, would be unreadable; yet Angelica completely understood. Her sister was happy for her, overjoyed even, but the news like this coming so soon after the death of her own child was possibly the cruellest act of fate one could receive.

"That's wonderful," she said quietly.

"Eliza…"

"No, it is alright. Just, don't say anything more," Eliza insisted. "I am happy for you."

Angelica simply nodded her thanks.

"I'm going to need your help," Angelica didn't know if she could admit such a thing to anyone except Eliza – not even John – but she was terrified. And, like her husband had said, in the long term, Eliza would be grateful Angelica had told her. She would want to help.

She wanted to help.

"How many have you had?"

She knew the answer of course.

A shadow passed over Eliza's face and she looked away. "Seven."

She wanted to say something – that she'd name the child Philip if it was a boy – she had always wanted her son to be called Philip, even if it was the name of her father, brother, and nephew.

He still was her nephew. He was still Alex and Eliza's son, and he was still brother to all their other children.

But that would only be a bad thing to say. Eliza had asked her not to say anything more, and yet she had continued, asking for her sister's help. Now was the time to stay silent.

* * *

They sat in silence for what could've been hours or minutes, Angelica did not know. And she doubted the meeting had made either of them feel much better. She certainly felt herself just as despondent as she had when she arrived.

"I should get back to John," Angelica announced at last.

"Yes, I suppose," her sister mused softly.

"Do you want me to stay?" Angelica asked. Her sister was more important than her husband. If Eliza needed her to stay, she would. "Do you need anything?"

Eliza shook her head, and the two of them left the parlour, walking silently, silently to the front door.

"I should talk to Mama," Angelica mused, forgetting that her sister had asked her to say nothing more about the baby.

Eliza sighed. "So should I."

Not for guidance on pregnancy, but on the loss of a child.

They had had two brothers, two sisters, and a set of triplets that hadn't made it out of infancy. Their father, and particularly their mother, had been broken over the deaths, but also drawn together, making their relationship ever stronger.

For both of those reasons, Angelica thought consulting her mother a wise decision.

And she was comforted knowing that Eliza would do the same.

* * *

Spring, 1801

By the time spring arrived, everything was starting anew, in both good and bad ways.

The Hamiltons had, as they had planned, moved, to a large estate uptown that resembled the Pastures far more than any house they'd lived in since they were married. They called it the Grange.

Visiting her sister was harder now, but even with the pregnancy, with the increased discomfort and exhaustion, with her belly growing, almost as a taunt to the Hamiltons' plight, Angelica made the journey multiple times a week.

Sometimes she would stay overnight, but other times no one in the household could handle a guest, even their favourite older sister, and she had to return home to the city. It wasn't good for her health, for her child's health; and Angelica knew that, if the circumstances were different, Eliza would be telling her to relax.

But her deep-rooted elder sister instincts pushed all that aside. Right now, she needed to what was best to ease Eliza's pain.

It was unimaginable for her. Though she loved him like a son, Philip was only her nephew. She couldn't imagine how much harder it was for Eliza.

For the whole family.

Alexander had been barely able to stay conscious during his son's funeral, and every day he looked older. But, the one affected the most was Angie.

She had been so close to Philip that her brain had just snapped. One morning Eliza had visited Angie's room and found her daughter asking when Philip would be coming home from school.

Angie had refused to believe her when Eliza calmly explained that Philip had passed, insisting that he had to return, with Christmas only a matter of days away.

It had only lasted a couple of days, and by the time Christmas did arrive, she had been able to reconcile with reality, and knew her brother had died.

But the realisation had broken her heart all over again, and now, in the middle of March, she had lapsed again. She spent four days straight asking where Philip was.

They prayed everyday that these 'episodes' would pass. That Angie could have a normal life. But, in their hearts, everyone knew this wasn't the case. She would suffer from such spells for the rest of her life.

* * *

A wedge had been driven between Alex and Eliza after Philip's death, much like what had happened in the wake of the affair. With the part Alexander had played in Philip's death, new wounds had appeared and old ones reopened. No matter how much Eliza had tried to convince herself that everything was better between them, she hadn't forgiven her husband as much as she thought she had.

Some things couldn't be forgiven just like that. Maybe not at all, though privately Angelica highly doubted it. Eliza was as loyal and forgiving as she was selfless and kind, and Alexander was doing everything he could to repent for the events of the past five years.

It was never going to be the same, everyone knew that. Angelica still remembered something Alexander had said to her sister they day he asked her to marry him: _We'll figure it out._

And Angelica was sure everything would be well eventually. Even if today wasn't the day.

* * *

**I'm sorry this took so long to get up. Hopefully the next one won't be as long a wait, though we are getting close to the end.**

**Have a great day. **


	10. Stop Wasting Time On Tears

Spring, 1801

Angelica smiled as she rocked her daughter in her arms. Every day since her little girl had been born seemed more beautiful than the one before. Being a mother was the most wonderful blessing she could have ever received, and she promised herself she wouldn't take it for granted.

After everything that had happened since her return to America, she wouldn't let herself take _anything_ for granted.

Angelica knew she would be incredibly fortunate if she could have another child. She was no longer a young woman. While her mind was as sharp as ever, she was middle aged.

But she had Matilda. She had her family.

And that would be enough.

* * *

_Three weeks earlier_

_John shifted next to her as she jolted awake. "What is it?" he yawned. "Are you alright?"_

_"The baby's coming," she responded, rather breathless._

_"Are you sure?" he asked, now fully awake**. **"Are you certain it's not just practice contractions?"_

_Eliza had told her about those. How, in the weeks leading to delivery, a woman was likely to feel contractions that weren't connected to the baby's arrival._

_With Eliza's forewarning, along with when her child was due to arrive Angelica had deduced that the contractions she'd started feeling some time ago were just her body preparing her for the day she would give birth._

_Today._

_"I've been having them for a little while," she replied. "So no."_

_"I'll go fetch Eliza," he announced, making to get out of bed._

_"No John," she replied quickly, reaching out to stop him. "Don't bother. She doesn't need to worry about this. Not after…"_

_The sentence didn't require finishing. _

_Angelica didn't mean 'not right now' or 'not this soon after'; she wouldn't fault Eliza for never wanting to anything to do with infants in any capacity._

_But at the same time, she knew that wasn't going to happen. Eliza was the most maternal person Angelica knew. She would happily help her sister through this; and Angelica suspected her child would be far from the last recipient of Eliza's love._

_"She insisted on helping," John said firmly. "It's almost dawn now. By the time I get uptown and we both get back it won't be too early."_

_Angelica froze; her husband's words had reminded her of the fact that it could be hours before she met her child._

_'Breathe,' she told herself. 'Just breathe. You can do this.'_

_Moments after John disappeared, Sophia arrived; she helped her as much as she could, setting up towels and washbowls and other things that would be needed later on, and getting her as comfortable as possible._

_ The pain of the contractions was the most excruciating sensation Angelica had ever experienced, but the most agonising part was the waiting. She had no way of knowing when the next contraction would come, even as she kept one eye on the clock by the bed. So in addition to feeling the stab of pain, she was caught off guard every time her body was wracked with cramps. _

* * *

_The sun had fully risen by the time Eliza arrived. __She was still dressed in the long black garb of a woman in mourning, but Angelica was surprised to see her sister smiling. It wasn't a big smile, but it was genuine._

_"Take this," she said, without preamble. She handed her a bottle._

_Angelica looked at her sister quizzically. "Is this brandy?"_

_Eliza nodded. "It helps," she insisted. _

_"…trust me."_

_Angelica cocked an eyebrow._

_She would not be surprised if, after thirteen pregnancies, her mother would be able to endure labour with little more than a grimace. Even Eliza, having been through seven, must be, to some degree, used to it._

_If Eliza said brandy helped, she believed her. _

_"Has your water broken?" her sister asked._

_Angelica shook her head._

_Another contraction came, rattling her to her core. She tried not to scream as she looked at the clock._

_Eleven minutes._

_She had a long road ahead of her._

* * *

_With her sister at her side, Angelica laboured for hours, until early afternoon, when she heard a soft cry. _

_"She's here," Eliza cried, and a moment later Angelica felt a baby being placed in her arms._

_She was aware of Eliza letting out the afterbirth, but only vaguely; she couldn't keep her eyes off her daughter. She was slimy and bloody, and crying, but she was the most beautiful thing Angelica had ever seen._

_"Elizabeth," she whispered. _

_"Yes?" her sister asked._

_"No," Angelica replied. "That's what I'm going to name her. After the best aunt she could possibly have."_

_"What about Peggy?"_

_Angelica almost giggled. She had to admit she had never been particularly fond of Peggy as a name, nor her sister's full name of Margarita, nor any other variant. _

_Peggy was just as dear to her as Eliza, and she knew she wouldn't be troubled if her niece did not carry her name. _

_"Well, aren't there too many girls with that name in our family?" Eliza asked pointedly. "John and Rensselaer both married Elizabeths and my little girl's Christian name is Eliza."_

_"And you call her Lissi," Angelica reasoned. "Which is exactly what I'm going to do. She'll be baptised Elizabeth but we'll call her by her middle name."_

_"Which will be?"_

_"Matilda."_

_She hadn't given much thought to what she would name her child if she was a girl. But now, with her daughter in her arms, she knew the name she had chosen was perfect._

* * *

Life would never be the same, but it would continue. Every day was new; and as long as they took it one day at a time, they would survive.

Angelica had devoted her days to her little daughter, and John had been doting on her, and she finally felt like she had a family that was wholly her own. Matilda was hers, in a way that her nieces and nephews never would be, and no one would love her the same way.

The children were each reacting to Philip's death in their own way. Little Angie was still experiencing fits of delusion, asking where her brother was, but mercifully, that was not most of the time. Xander was only nine years old, but was already acting much older; something that, Angelica could tell, worried Eliza immensely. James and John were despondent at the lost of their brother, who had, in so many ways, been their confidant, but perhaps William and Lissi had, through no fault of their own, were experiencing the worst plight of all. They were sad enough at the moment, but they were so young. At ages four and two, everybody else knew that, in years to come, neither of them were likely to have any memories of their oldest brother that weren't hazy and imperfect. Lissi might not have any.

Conversely, Eliza and Alexander's relationship was better than it had been in several years. The wedge that had been driven between ever since Alexander's affair had gone public had repaired. Not only had they completely forgiven each other, but they had also forgiven themselves. The events that had initially pulled them apart had only drawn them closer than ever before.

Just as Angelica had predicted.

Life was good. They were lucky to be alive right now.

* * *

**I'm SO sorry it took me forever to update this, but I hope you enjoyed. ****And, obviously there have been creative liberties taken. Elizabeth Matilda was not Angelica's first child, nor was she born in 1801. And I don't even know if Matilda was her middle name or not; I just did that so we don't confuse her with Eliza, like I do with everyone else.**

**The next, and final, chapter should not take nearly as long, since I've already written quite a bit of it. ****Thank you all so much for reading, and have a great day. **


	11. Epilogue

Winter, 1814

Eliza tugged her cloak tighter around herself, warming herself as best she could in the falling snow.

She looked at Angelica, who had knelt down and was softly scraping snow off the headstone, so they could see the words Eliza knew by heart:

_ALEXANDER HAMILTON_

_The CORPORATION of Trinity Church Has erected this_

_In Testimony of their Respect_

_FOR_

_ The PATRIOT of incorruptible INTEGRITY._

_ The SOLDIER of approved VALOUR._

_ The STATESMAN of consummate WISDOM:_

_ Whose TALENTS and VIRTUES will be admired_

Though it would seem to others to be small consolation, the words gave Eliza comfort and hope. Because, for all the vitriol he'd received and all the enemies he had made throughout his life, people still saw her husband's strengths, and wanted to recognise them.

He had been poor, but he was the reason others were rich. He had been in a position to enrich himself a thousand ways, and he didn't.

Did that make him foolish, or honest?

Eliza thought it made him both.

She had come here on this day, every year for the past decade. Sometimes she brought the children; sometimes she brought Angelica; sometimes she came alone.

Today her sister was with her. Visiting him on his birthday was never as hard as visiting him on the day he had died, but the sorrow still resurfaced, and it was always better to have company on the days it did.

Her life felt like it had fallen apart. And there were still days Eliza felt the pain as if it had been yesterday, not over ten years ago. But she persevered. For everyone she'd lost and everyone she still had.

With every new sorrow there was a corresponding joy.

They had lost Peggy less than a year after Philip. Shortly before Matilda was born, their sweet little sister had taken ill, and then, only a few months later she passed. Alexander had been with her when she died.

She was buried out at Menands, and Eliza couldn't visit her as often as she could her husband and son.

But the following year she and Alexander had been blessed with another child; a boy they had named Philip to honour the brother he would never meet in this life.

Angelica had given birth to her second child, Richard, mere months after their mother had died in 1803, and another two years later her final child, whom they called Ana.

And between the births of her youngest niece and nephew, Eliza had lost her father, and the man she had held closest to her heart: her beautiful, stubborn, outspoken genius, Alexander.

* * *

_12th July, 1804_

_It had been over a day. With Dr. Hosack and Angelica there, Eliza was having terrible flashbacks to the day Philip died._

_In perhaps the cruellest twist of fate possible, Alex had been duelling out at Weehawken; exactly where Philip had been shot three years earlier._

_He had used the same gun._

_Or had the vice president been handling the same pistol as her son?_

_Now, it mattered not._

_Alexander had held on longer than Philip, but it would take a miracle for him to survive much longer._

_And yet, he had, in many ways._

_The reckless man she had known in the earliest days of their marriage, the man who had flung himself into danger without a second thought, was still alive, over twenty years after the war had ended. _

_He had been just as deathly ill as his mother when she died, all those years ago, and half a world away. He had survived that. They had all contracted yellow fever some years ago._

_He'd survived that too._

_He seemed indestructible._

_Yet he was as mortal as anybody else. _

_He'd already had his miracle._

_"I love you," she whispered through her tears. "I always have."_

_He had asked her a question – whether she could be satisfied with life as the wife of a lowly man - the day he came home and found her pregnant with Philip, as well as in a letter he had written before they were married._

_And she had. She had been more than merely satisfied. She had relished every moment of being his wife, even those which had been the darkest moments in her life._

_She suddenly wished she hadn't burned that letter. She was so grateful that she could see it in her mind when she closed her eyes, as clear as if she were holding the letter itself._

_"Remember, my Eliza," he whispered. "You are a Christian."_

_Through her tears, she nodded. He was right. This wasn't really the end. They would be reunited one day. It might be in a few years, or much, much later. But it would happen one day._

_"If they break this Union," he sighed, oddly calm. "They will break my heart."_

_Despite herself, Eliza smiled._

* * *

She didn't know those would be his final words. They really were the perfect words for him to say right before he took leave of the world, she'd realised since that day.

That day ten years ago.

Ten years. It had been ten years since her Alexander died. A decade since she heard him tell her he loved her, or had been able to say it back so he could hear.

Now she had nothing but memories, the few letters he written her in those final years: those she hadn't burned, and the fierce, unwavering determination to do right by her husband for the rest of her life.

A clock chimed in the distance, striking the hour. Three o'clock in the afternoon.

Angelica looked at her, and she sighed, and nodded.

They needed to go. Their time was up.

For now.

But she would be back, and Eliza would ensure that she and her sister would tell his story, her story, _their _story, as long as they could.

* * *

**Thank you all so much for reading this story, and all the reviews. It means a lot to me.**

**I wrote this story because there have been plenty of _Hamilton_ related novels that have come out since the show premiered. There are several about Eliza, but with one focusing on Peggy, I felt like Angelica was getting left behind a bit. So I decided to give her a story.**

**I also decided to write the epilogue from Eliza's POV because I plan to do a story that is this story, only from her perspective, since so many of these events were huge for her.**

**(And yes, I'm pretty sure that's what it says on Alexander's headstone.)**

**Thanks again.**


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